Fargo, at this time, was riddled with injuries and could barely move without gasping for air. He was limping and in deep pain, but he was doing what he could to win this war.
It wasn't out of patriotism, but was completely out of pride and fury.
If he didn't kill those bastards today, he wouldn't be able to live with himself! If he left now, he'd die of a heart attack before he could recover enough to get back at them!
"Keep it coming!" he yelled, screaming at the slaves to move faster, pass on more important resources to the front line.
He wasn't blind. They were losing. There was no news about the people who managed to breach yet, and he couldn't do anything about that.
What he could control was the outside, and one way to increase their chances to turn this around from the outside was to heal their injured! Get the necessary tens of thousands of people inside the walls!
